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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540682">Upskirt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishforwishes/pseuds/wishforwishes'>wishforwishes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dunkirk (2017) RPF, Harry Styles (Musician)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Blasphemy, Crossdressing, Face-Sitting, Feminine Harry, Hurt No Comfort, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Content, Rough Oral Sex, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:01:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishforwishes/pseuds/wishforwishes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lowdens lived in the Scottish Borders, even further south than Edinburgh, for generations. They had relocated to Inverness only a few years before Harry arrived there. At the time, he was a clueless fresher at the University of Highlands and Islands (or UHI, to everyone too lazy to say the whole name every time). It was only natural that Jack, a member of its most recent alumni class, would take Harry under his wing to an even greater extent than the rest of his family. </p><p>And it was only natural — it was only stupidly cliche and expected — that Harry would fall for him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Lowden/Harry Styles, Jack Lowden/Saoirse Ronan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Upskirt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was my first attempt at jackrry, and one of my first attempts at an AU. I originally wrote it as a commission, but now that my circumstances have changed I'm uploaded some of my older works to my ao3. I hope you all enjoy! </p><p>(obligatory disclaimer: this is fiction and not meant to imply anything about the actual personal lives of any people featured.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>(Somewhere along the River Ness, in the early 2000s)</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning was as sunny as it ever got in northern Scotland. There were a few shy clouds hanging far back on the horizon, but most of the sky was a solid stretch of blue, interrupted only by the jutting shape of Old High St. Stephen's lone tower. Many a well-dressed couple arriving at the church craned their heads upwards to comment on the loveliness of the day, but the church’s ground level surroundings provided just as pleasantly picturesque a sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The quad to St. Stephen’s immediate right was jewel-green and blushing pink in turns, like the flora had gained sentience just to celebrate the special occasion with their best foot forward. Even the kirkyard on the opposite side seemed perkier than normal: the sun glinted proudly off the newer gravestones and the moss that grew over the old ones seemed more vibrant than usual. A spring wedding was a tricky gamble, but it looked like nature had decided to be benevolent for once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry couldn’t relate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved from Cheshire to the Highlands almost four years ago — going from a Northern lad to a Southern interloper overnight — and he and Jack had been inseparable from the first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole Lowden family had welcomed him with open arms. Jacquie, the matriarch of the clan, glanced at the thin jumper he was wearing when they met and sighed like she expected no better from an Englishman. She took him shopping his very first week to augment his wardrobe with more climate-suitable apparel, and from then on everyone made it their mission to integrate him as well they could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s brother Calum helped Harry’s Gaelic evolve into an acceptably English mutilation rather than the unintelligible gibberish it would have been otherwise. Gordon Lowden, Jack’s father and a very soft-spoken man, assured Harry whenever he was feeling like a bother or a charity case that they were happy to help. After all, they understood feeling like a foreigner in one’s own country even more than Harry did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lowdens lived in the Scottish Borders, even further south than Edinburgh, for generations. They had relocated to Inverness only a few years before Harry arrived there. At the time, he was a clueless fresher at the University of Highlands and Islands (or UHI, to everyone too lazy to say the whole name every time). It was only natural that Jack, a member of its most recent alumni class, would take Harry under his wing to an even greater extent than the rest of his family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was only natural — it was only stupidly cliche and expected — that Harry would fall for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They first met during fresher’s week. Even though Jack had already graduated, he’d still gotten roped into manning the booth for the Drama Society, which he’d been president of his last year as a student. This was the final booth Harry made a beeline toward at the society fair. He’d already collected paraphernalia from the Law Soc (for the sake of his mum, who still hoped he’d go to law school after undergrad) and the LGBT Soc, which had just been founded that year was getting a lot of dirty looks from nearby booths.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry got some glares too, after stopping by and picking up a couple of printouts and rainbow badges. But not from Jack. Jack winked, said “cute buttons” and then encouraged Harry to join the drama club because there were a lot of openly gay members and Jack remembered it as a welcoming environment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Him tacking on “which makes sense — you gays love theatre, right,” while laughing awkwardly should have deterred Harry from developing a crush. Him introducing Harry to his family but pulling him aside beforehand to say “My parents are pretty traditional, it might be safer if you don’t go waving any flags around them,” definitely should have deterred him. And Jack’s perfect-to-a-fault Sunday attendance at the Free Presbyterian Church should have been the final nail in the coffin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Harry couldn’t help himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack just seemed so dashing and mature, with his deep brogue and his beard and his easy confidence. He was always dropping by UHI’s campus during Drama Soc meetings to give the new actors tips, and honestly, Harry didn’t know how </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to interpret Jack running his hands all over Harry’s body in the name of ‘helping him develop more natural improvisational movement’ as flirting. Surely no straight boy was that cavelier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack was also single — perpetually, he would groan every time another one of his college friends got engaged and sent him a ‘save the date’ card. During Harry’s first three years at UHI, he never had a girlfriend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry managed to build up a fantasy in his head over those years. Maybe Jack was secretly gay. Maybe he’d chosen an openly gay guy to pal around with because he wanted to vicariously live the lifestyle that would have offended his family’s conservatism. And maybe, after all this time, he was at least half as interested in Harry as Harry was in him — which was fully in love at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was trying to work up the courage to ask Harry out. Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry </span>
  </em>
  <span>should throw caution to the wind and ask. Or just jump him during their next FIFA session.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Harry’s senior year, Saoirse arrived. She’d moved to Inverness for the uni as well — a grad program on the Vikings, apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wouldn’t be fair to say she drove a wedge between his and Jack’s friendship. Jack was just so arse over tits to finally have a girl interested in him that he sometimes forgot Harry entirely, and the rest of the family followed suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She baked mince pies with Jacquie, had rousing discussions about Celtic identity with Calum and Gordon, and generally drove Jack mad with infatuation until he never talked with Harry about anything besides her, on the increasingly rare occasions they hung out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry couldn’t really blame him. Saoirse was a dynamic woman with beautiful long blonde hair, and a lilting Irish accent, and a captivating figure. And Harry was a guy in possession of none of these things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She and Jack were engaged by the time the spring semester rolled around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lowdens didn’t think this was effing insane and much too quick. Instead, they were thrilled that Jack had finally found someone (even if she was Irish and Catholic rather than Scottish and Presbyterian) that they could foist all their fantasties of courtship rituals and wedding traditions upon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This whole mess should have disillusioned Harry — </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>being a recurring theme at this point — but then something happened to briefly give him hope.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if this is the best idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was at least the fourth time Jack had made his reservations known. One would think he wouldn’t bring it up during a dress rehearsal, but Harry had his counterpoint well-prepared regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack, you’ve been helping me promote this fundraiser for months. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>got </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>on board by telling me how fun it was when you were still at uni.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but I meant fun to watch, not participate in. I never actually did drag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you still aren’t doing it,” Harry retorted, gesturing at their outfits. “I’m in drag. You’re an actor in costume playing a role — something you literally got a degree in doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were at the campus theatre. It was just the two of them, because it was technically after hours (but Jack still had pull with the info hub that issued ID card permissions). They were practicing their routine for the Home in the Heart charity pageant, which the Drama Soc put on every year to raise money for rough sleepers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Soc often partnered with some local gay clubs and drag revues for this, and Harry absolutely took full advantage of that fact to incorporate drag into his routine. A routine that Jack had agreed to be Harry’s partner for but was now criticising at every opportunity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not just that. It’s kind of blasphemous, isn’t it? Which I find fucking funny, but I bet a lot of the audience won’t. Especially doing it alongside the drag.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry ignored him and went over to reset their track on the Soc’s singular ancient boombox. If the general population of Inverness didn’t understand that a campy parody of David’s adultery with Bathsheba was an incisive satire of religious hypocrisy — and an apt one given a bunch of gays were fundraising for a cause that the Church wasn’t contributing shit to — then. Well. That wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was Harry’s problem was Jack wrestling the boombox away from him and pausing it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really doesn’t bother you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gonna need you to be more specific, there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making yourself up to look like a girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in Jack’s tone stopped Harry from throwing out another snappy remark. He looked at him — really looked at him, nervously twisting the white sheet they’d co-opted into a simlāh for his David costume, and flicking his eyes up and down Harry’s ‘Bathsheba’ dress, which was stuffed to the gills with exaggerated styrofoam curves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Harry said slowly. “It doesn’t bother me. Does it bother you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t have gone in for a theatre degree if I was put off by men cross-dressing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>should be more specific too. Does it bother you that you like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack stepped two paces backwards before the words were all of the way out of Harry’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? That’s not —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like me. Like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stepped two paces forward in turn, and then two paces more, until he was firmly in Jack’s personal space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack flinched a little, but he didn’t back up any further, and that was all the permission Harry needed to tilt his head and press a gentle kiss to his mouth. Jack let out a shaky exhale of breath against Harry’s lips, and Harry pulled back to smile at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see what you’re thinking. It’s okay. You can just say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, how sinful this is?” Jack spit out, out of fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>nowhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was Harry’s turn to recoil now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit. Um. That’s not —” Jack dragged his hands through his beard, pulling the shorter ginger hairs on his chin. It was something he always did when frustrated. And something Harry was always endeared by, until about five seconds ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, you know I’ve never had a problem with...all that,” Jack said vaguely, and he wasn’t even looking Harry in the eye now. “I’ve never been all about traditional values like my parents. But they still exist, and it’s not like that’s always a bad thing, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>? So it’s fine for people to goof off and do drag for charity, but when it’s someone you know you suddenly get to be uncomfortable? And tradition as a good thing? Are you serious? Like if I wore a dress to your wedding next month, I ought to get kicked out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it would be better if you just didn’t come at all,” Jack said, and that finally shut Harry up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t know until the day of the wedding just how deep his resentment ran. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there he was, strolling up to the entrance pavilion (glorified tent) that the maid of honour (bitch and a half) had set up to greet all the guests (gawping Irish relatives of Saiorse’s who’d probably never been to anywhere in bloody Inverness-shire before now). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take him long to charm his way into the church, even though he’d been technically disinvited from attending. Well, ‘charm’ might be too generous of Harry’s abilities. More likely, his full face of makeup and mint-green slip of a dress — a toned down version of that fateful drag ensemble — confused the doddering usher enough that when he let Harry in, he was thinking he was one of Jack’s many, many distant female cousins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And here came the man of the hour himself: the reason for Harry’s misanthropic state of being and his last-minute ridiculous ‘plan’. The groom-to-be was currently making his way down the aisle, in the opposite direction that Saoirse would soon be walking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s kilt was the same striking green and black plaid that made up the Lowden family tartan. Harry would have thought he looked handsome, if he hadn’t been too busy seething with jealousy and single-minded determination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he reached Harry, Jack began hastily pulling him aside, as if — Harry blinked back the sudden sting of angry tears — he didn’t want any of his Presbyterian relatives or Catholic future in-laws to see him. But he let himself be dragged out of the main chapel and into the cordoned off administrative area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence was kind of comical: Jack storming down the hallway with Harry’s taffeta-covered bicep still firmly in his grip, neither of them willing to say anything to each other until they found a private spot. This ended up being an empty office Harry was pretty sure belonged to the pastor, but it had a door and a lock so he wasn’t going to fuss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was it. The moment for Harry to admit...to himself, that he had no real plan. He watched Jack turn the lock and then turn to face him, and his mind was honestly quite blank. Sure, he’d had the passing thought while getting dressed this morning that he wanted to rile Jack up. But he didn’t think he ultimately had it in him to ask Jack to abandon Saoirse at the altar, when the two of them hadn’t even — </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack stormed forward and crushed their lips together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry wished he could say his conscience activated instantly and pushed Jack away. Truthfully, his reaction </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> instant; that reaction was just to throw his arms around Jack, and his dignity out the window in one fell swoop, and start kissing back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t the hesitant, chaste kiss they had shared before the pageant, where Jack had been confused and then upset by Harry’s appearance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, this was Jack attacking Harry’s mouth with a passion indistinguishable from anger. This was them both gasping quick breaths into each other’s mouths rather than pulling away to get air properly. This was the kind of kiss that led straight to sex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if Harry’s only chance before he lost Jack forever was in a church — in the fucking pastor’s office — then so be it. Everyone in this town thought people like him were immoral demons; he might as well enjoy the benefits of being one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Harry’s turn to drag Jack around now; he seized him by the lapels of his jacket and started walking them backwards until he could feel the backs of his legs hit the desk in the corner of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They detached from each other in silent agreement to hastily dump the keyboard, photos, and nicknacks onto the swivel chair behind the desk. Once they had made a flat surface they took immediate advantage of it, Harry throwing himself down on his back and pulling Jack down on top of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as he would have liked to spend time just necking, it surely wouldn’t be long until Jack was supposed to be back up at the altar. So Harry immediately went for his kilt, bunching it up around his waist and discovering that Jack had somehow decided his wedding day was a good day to be a True Scotsman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dick was just there, already hard and dripping, and bigger than Harry was expecting. Several centimetres bigger, it seemed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was hesitant for maybe a second too long, because Jack started shifting uncomfortably on top of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Second thoughts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it was pretty rich that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack</span>
  </em>
  <span> was asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, Harry thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Harry assured him anyway. “I’m just trying to work out whether I’ll be able to get all of you in my mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had the singular pleasure of seeing Jack’s dick jump against his stomach at those words, even though the man himself was still stoic in expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve done a lot of wondering about that over the years, have you? I should have known you’d be easy for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry wasn’t sure if this was dirty talk or just more evidence that Jack, despite always claiming otherwise, did indeed hold some of the same backwards assumptions as the rest of his family. Harry had heard more than one rant about the ‘promiscuity of queers’ over the years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was already established that his dignity was resting somewhere in the grass outside the church. Maybe even in the adjacent graveyard — that would be apt. So he just moaned an affirmative and pulled Jack up until he was straddling his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kilt fell back down as soon as Jack was settled, blocking Harry’s sight and threatening to smother him a bit, but Harry was less focused on the scratchiness of the tartan than on the cock sliding into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack fed it to him steadily, in one smooth glide that forced Harry to relax his throat against the sudden intrusion. But Harry could feel that Jack wasn’t relaxed. His thighs were shaking as they framed Harry’s face: maybe nerves, or maybe tension from holding himself up so he wasn’t literally sitting on Harry’s face, because then he really would suffocate instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Harry seemed fated to suffocate slowly. His whole world was underneath Jack’s kilt now; he could see nothing, and all he could hear and feel was Jack’s thrusts, shallow movements that kept his cock all the way down Harry’s throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t even hear Jack’s moans, and he didn’t know if that was because the kilt was muffling his hearing, or if Jack was trying to keep quiet to avoid suspicion from anyone passing by — or maybe, a truly wretched voice in the back of Harry’s head speculated, he wasn’t even affected enough by this to make sounds in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe to Jack, this wasn’t sex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was scratching an itch, sure, or working a toxin out of his system. But using his queer friend’s mouth couldn’t be legitimized by the word sex, because that would put it on par with the soon-to-be-marital bed he shared with Saoirse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In this moment, Harry was even lesser than Bathsheba. He was the whore of Babylon. A disgraced sodomite. Everything that Jack had called him not with his tongue but with the rescinding of Harry’s invitation to his wedding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now that he was all those fears realised, Harry felt vindictively pleased to be crying not over the pariah treatment, but from getting what he wanted despite it. The hot press of Jack’s cock inside him and Jack’s family tartan around him, making him sweat and drool and finally tear up from the almost-asphyxiation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just when he was starting to wonder — wonder, not worry, which was troubling — if he might be about to pass out, he could feel Jack’s thrusts turn erratic, and for a few painful and glorious moments, he was almost riding Harry’s face. Then his body seized up and he started to orgasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Jack’s come started flooding his mouth, Harry was sure he felt closer to the sacrament of the Eucharist than a thousand wafers could ever get Saoirse to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Jack finally pulled back and Harry had blinked the stars out of his eyes enough to see again, he remembered too late that he’d put on makeup this morning. Jack’s softening dick was smeared with lipstick and if the state of his kilt’s lining was any indication, the foundation Harry had slathered on was smeared to hell. At least his mascara was water-proof. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How bad is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry winced at how croaky his voice sounded. Jack didn’t answer him; he was muttering under his breath and trying to straighten the wrinkled pleating of his kilt, and he wasn’t looking at Harry </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and this was just like the dress rehearsal except a thousand times worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I — I have to go, all right? I’m supposed to —” Jack’s apathetic demeanor finally broke along with his voice, and he buried his face in his hands. “I’m supposed to be getting married in a few minutes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to comfort him probably wouldn’t go over well. Telling him to ditch Saoirse at the altar would definitely tip him over the edge to anger or violence. So Harry stayed where he was, lying still and silent on the desk like a prey animal trying to avoid being spotted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Jack left. Harry waited for what he hoped was a safe amount of time and then followed, managing to re-enter the chapel and snag a seat at the back without being seen. Saoirse and Jack were already standing at the altar, and the pastor was addressing everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s only goal since Saoirse came to town had been to get Jack to think about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>for once instead. He technically accomplished that today; when Jack said his vows in a few minutes, he would be thinking about the fact that he already broke them. But it didn’t change the fact that he was going to say them, in front of God and everyone, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was more than prepared to leave with his tail between his legs. He was meant to be graduating soon, and after that, avoiding the Lowdens would be easy. But then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pastor said it in a droning voice — something he had to say at every wedding he officiated, something everyone heard at every wedding they’d been to, and not something that anyone expected a response to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be horrific, after all, to actually object. Wouldn’t it? It would be causing a scene. It would be outing Jack as a cheater, and by doing so, outing him, full stop. It would be humiliating Saoirse, whose only crime was being more suitable and more desirable than Harry in every way. It would be just plain wrong.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stood up. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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